Cabo Notes 7

Are you sick of Cabo stories yet? Here’s another one. After our first day at the beach, we returned to our room to clean up for dinner and the key didn’t work in the lock. Interesting. We tracked down a young lady in housekeeping who didn’t speak English. My Spanish dictionary was locked in the room. After playing charades for a few minutes, we finally took her to the door and handed her the key. She quickly figured out the problem. She fetched a young man, who spent the better part of an hour trying to open our door. Ron and I stood on the shaded verandah and waited. It’s a good thing we looked so cute in our swimsuits. Eventually, we went to the nearby restaurant buffet, where I had a little guacamole. Great guacamole, never did get enough of it, on or off our towels. By the time we returned, the door to our room was open. The lock was in pieces on the floor. While we washed up and dressed for dinner, the young man changed our locks and provided us with a new key. He did not speak English, so I looked up in my dictionary the word for “fixed” and asked him if the lock was fixed. He laughed his head off, took the dictionary, and pointed to an alternative definition. I had apparently asked him if the door was sewn (as in mended, by sewing up with a needle). I can think of worse things than getting locked out of my room in a place with endless beach and endless guacamole.